Bill Clinton: Instigator Extraordinaire

Please just go away.

That’s my message to former Carbuncle-in-Chief Bill Clinton.

Clinton, as quoted on abcnews.com, dredged up this tired accusation once again:

“…right-wing, radio talk-show hosts” kept people in “white heat” nearly 15 years ago before the deadly Oklahoma City bombing, Clinton today warned against similar anger in the age of Obama.

Rush Limbaugh picked up on this, and thoroughly dissected Clinton’s hate-baiting.

“Bill Clinton … just gave the kooks out there an excuse to be violent,” Limbaugh told radio listeners today. “He just offered them an opportunity to be violent.”

Now, obviously forgetting all of the disgusting, violent, hate-filled vitriol to which this country was subjected by the left for eight years of George W. Bush, it is obvious this mook realizes the only way to de-legitimize the peaceful and powerful Tea Party Movement is to brand them as things they aren’t. And this is his way of indirectly painting these people as possessed with anger and the potential for violence.

Hmmm.

So how does he approach it?

On one hand, we have hundreds of Tea Party rallies consisting of tens of thousands of Americans nation-wide, all of which have been peaceful and sincere. Then we have an angry, mentally unstable freak-a-zoid, who bombed a federal building, killing 168 Americans in one of the worse terrorist attacks in our history (On Clinton’s watch, mind you.).

Yup. The link is unmistakable, Bill.

This reminds me of a little story.

Mind you, I am NOT comparing this to the horrific events of that day, nor am I telling this to feel as though I am a victim of ideological hatred.

It’s just something that happened which, for some reason, popped into my head when I heard this. Take it for what you will.

One night, sometime early last year, I went up to visit my friends, a married couple, in Jersey City, New Jersey.

Now, Jersey City is a jumble of different races, nationalities, and religions, all loud without any regard for others around them. (I once went to a Home Depot up there, and, with the 10 different languages being spoken at the same time, I thought my head would pop.) When the Presidential election was in full swing, you could not walk for 10 feet without seeing an Obama/Biden sign.

It is a liberal’s wet-dream.

Anyway, my friend’s wife and I went to a bar in Hoboken, which is basically a clean, young, upscale version of Jersey City, and no less a liberal’s wet-dream. We had made plans to meet her husband there when he was done with work.

Now, for the record, I don’t like “city” atmospheres. I’m not a fan of the general public, I don’t like crowds, and unfamiliar places just, at least at first, make me uncomfortable.

This instance was no exception.

That said, we were having a great time, catching up over some Stoli-on-the-rocks and beer when I noticed someone across the bar yelling. As I know not a soul in Hoboken, I certainly didn’t think it was directed at me, but as it continued, I glanced over, and sure enough, a bulky, uncouth black gentleman was pointing at me, yelling what, at first sounded like a football cadence, and intensely flashing his Manson-lamps at me.

After realizing that he was after my attention, I keyed in on what he was babbling about.

Seems that cool night, I, for no other reason than to just put on an article of clothing, had worn my coveted “Limbaugh Institute For Advanced Conservative Studies” sweatshirt.

Understand, I did not wear nor buy this shirt to showcase some en-vogue, leftist-type “Che Guevara” fake solidarity with anyone. I just, well, like the shirt.

“Hey! Yeah, you!” He bellowed. “Is that a Rush Limbaugh shirt you have on?”

A bit stunned, I actually had to look down to make sure.

“Yeah. It is.” I said.

“Rush Limbaugh? That guy is a fucking asshole.” He informed me.

“I don’t know him personally,” I said, “but to each his own.”

Shaking his head, mumbling something about hating Limbaugh, he summoned the bartender over, and started pointing over at me, staring and giggling, apparently talking about the fact that they couldn’t believe anyone could show up in their area, wearing something so disagreeable.

Mind you, I felt out of place where I was. For all I know, he had a posse at the pool table at the ready to get his back if anything untoward happened.

I just turned to my friend, and, still a bit stunned, said “What the hell is this about?”

She just shrugged her shoulders, and we continued with our night.

But, the more I absorbed what just occurred, the more incredulous I became.

Several thoughts ran through my head: Should I go over to him and confront him? Engage in a debate? Make a snide remark of my own?

And, as rage is admittedly one of the first feelings to flood my receptors, the one action that dominated my thoughts was to calmly walk over to him, and smash him in the head with my friend’s very substantial beer mug.

But, not wanting to go to jail, and realizing this was his turf and not mine, we just finished up, and, as if on cue, my friend showed. So we left.

Thinking back on it, I could have made an issue about it. Talking, yelling, smashing, whatever.

But, the more I thought of it, the more I realized this nut was bothered so much purely due to a shirt, just my wearing it was that most effective way to torment this insecure goon. He felt it was acceptable to confront a complete stranger with anger just because I had the balls to openly disagree with his narrow-minded political pap.

So, in effect, I have to agree with Bill Clinton on this one.

Talk radio does produce in some people actionable hatred.

But it ain’t on the Right.

Dear Mr. President
Through The Looking-Glass On A Tourist Visa